greatly contributed to its liberation. The word, made to pass from one
thing to another, is, in fact, by nature transferable and free. It can
therefore be extended, not only from one perceived thing to another, but
even from a perceived thing to a recollection of that thing, from the
precise recollection to a more fleeting image, and finally from an image
fleeting, though still pictured, to the picturing of the act by which
the image is pictured, that is to say, to the idea. Thus is revealed to
the intelligence, hitherto always turned outwards, a whole internal
world--the spectacle of its own workings. It required only this
opportunity, at length offered by language. It profits by the fact that
the word is an external thing, which the intelligence can catch hold of
and cling to, and at the same time an immaterial thing, by means of
which the intelligence can penetrate even to the inwardness of its own
work. Its first business was indeed to make instruments, but this
fabrication is possible only by the employment of certain means which
are not cut to the exact measure of their object, but go beyond it and
thus allow intelligence a supplementary--that is to say disinterested
work. From the moment that the intellect, reflecting upon its own
doings, perceives itself as a creator of ideas, as a faculty of
representation in general, there is no object of which it may not wish
to have the idea, even though that object be without direct relation to
practical action. That is why we said there are things that intellect
alone can seek. Intellect alone, indeed, troubles itself about theory;
and its theory would fain embrace everything--not only inanimate matter,
over which it has a natural hold, but even life and thought.

By what means, what instruments, in short by what method it will
approach these problems, we can easily guess. Originally, it was
fashioned to the form of matter. Language itself, which has enabled it
to extend its field of operations, is made to designate things, and
nought but things: it is only because the word is mobile, because it
flies from one thing to another, that the intellect was sure to take it,
sooner or later, on the wing, while it was not settled on anything, and
apply it to an object which is not a thing and which, concealed till
then, awaited the coming of the word to pass from darkness to light. But
the word, by covering up this object, again converts it into a thing. So
intelligence, even when